Legacy
by psiChic
Summary: Beginnings and Endings. One night in November... Wee!chesters of a sort. Spoilers for seasons one and two.


**A/N**- Hey! This has nothing to do with my other story, _Let Go_, though it could be connected if you want it to be. Thanks to TheFlipSide over at the TVGuide Blogs for inspiring this story! And as usual, to my LLS for the beta. Hope you all enjoy. Review if you do!!

Still have no ownership whatsoever. sad

**Legacy **

It was dark and cool, the wind calm and the stars bright. A heavy rain had just fallen, leaving the world washed and rejuvenated. The November air threatened snow, but at the moment the earth was quiet, the warm glow from the windows of a white house shining softly like a beacon to the heavens.

Inside was a different climate, the walls and furniture bathed in gold from the many lamps and light fixtures. It was a happy place, energized by its inhabitants. A child ran across the kitchen floor, bare feet smacking tile, as his mother finished up the dishes and put the remainder of a fresh batch of cookies into a jar to set on the table.

"One more?" the boy pleaded, all smiles and innocence.

The mother made a show of thinking, a sparkle in her eye that matched her son's. "Hmmm…didn't I see you brushing your teeth a few minutes ago?"

"No." said the boy hastily, shaking his head, hair flopping wildly.

"No? But didn't I say it was time to get ready for bed? And didn't you tell me you were already ready?" Her smile betrayed any notion of reproach, amused as she was, watching her eldest squirm.

"Umm…" Trapped now, not wanting to admit he hadn't brushed his teeth, but still wanting that cookie very much, he replied, "I forgot."

Suppressing a giggle, she said, "You forgot, huh? Well…in that case, I suppose you can have _one_ more. Only one though. And then it's teeth time."

"Okay!" the little one exclaimed, excitement lacing his tiny voice. He ran to the table and fiddled with the jar.

"After you've finished we'll go up and say good night to your brother too. Alright?" she asked, already knowing the answer and helping her son with the container.

Mouth full of chocolate, a muffled cry of "Can we read him a story?" came from the boy sitting on the table, making her smile.

"Not tonight, sweetheart. It's late and you've got a doctor's appointment in the morning." Then, seeing her son's face fall, she added, "Tomorrow, sweetie."

"Promise?"

"I promise." answered his mother, making a mental note to get the boys down earlier in the future. "I'll tell you what, why don't we pick out a book before we tuck your brother in, so it will be all planned for tomorrow?"

"Okay!" he exclaimed again, with, if possible, even more enthusiasm. "Can I pick two?"

Laughing, she replied, "Two it is. Now go on. Scoot." She watched as her pride and joy scurried off the table and up the stairs. "Careful!" she called, hearing the footsteps soften and slow on the steps. They picked up again as he reached the hallway, running down to his superhero-covered room.

A few minutes later the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened brought the woman out of the kitchen, a wide smile decorating her face as she greeted her husband.

"Hey," she said, kissing him on the cheek, "How was work?"

Taking a deep breath, he replied, "Not great. We'll probably be working on the Murphy thing for another week at least." Taking off his coat and hanging it on one of the little hooks near the door, he added, "The boys already asleep? I hate not seeing them like this."

"Actually, we're picking out stories at the moment," Her eyes rose to the ceiling as the sound of running water filled the house, "and brushing our teeth. Allegedly."

Chuckling and looking up as well, the man smiled and repeated, "Allegedly."

As the woman went upstairs to hasten the child's bedtime rituals, her husband moved through the foyer and into the living room, passing a desk full of family portraits. A smiling blonde with her arms wrapped around a man, stubble on his equally content face. The same man some years later, flanked on either side by two young boys. And a pair of brothers, green eyes harboring a kind of quiet past suffering despite the grin each was sporting, leaning on the hood of a classic car. More photos lined the walls of the room, showing the boy upstairs at various stages of his life, surrounded by family. The newest addition to the house's collection featured a baby, small and only a few hours old, being held tight by his big brother, his mother's watchful frame standing just out of sight.

Dropping his briefcase by the couch, the man started up the stairs himself and headed to his youngest's nursery.

"Daddy!" came a small yet surprisingly loud voice, as a tiny body rocketed itself across the room and into his father's waiting arms.

"Hey, buddy." he answered, smiling broadly as he scooped his son up and watched his wife bend down to kiss the gurgling baby.

"Can we have a story? Please?" he asked the man, a typical ploy used when one parent's answer is unsatisfactory.

Looking at his wife with eyes softening in a way only he, and now his son, could, coming frighteningly close to resembling a puppy, he asked in a playful tone, "Can we, Mommy?"

An amused sigh escaped her lips as she finished arranging the blankets around the six month old's drowsy form. Straightening up and turning to look at the pitiful sight behind her, she said, exasperated, "Alright. But not too long, okay?" Then, to her husband as she moved past her boys and into the hall, "You've got him?"

"I got him." he assured, hugging his son closer to him and walking over to a chair by the window. "So what'll it be tonight, kiddo? _Chicka-Chicka Boom-Boom_? _Everybody Poops_?"

"Noo-o." said the boy, giggling at his father's choice of literature for such a mature and grown-up four year old. "I want a monster story!" He growled and held up his 'claws' to make sure he got the picture.

"A monster story? Hmm…let's see now. I don't think I know any monster stories…"

"Dad_dy_!" he exclaimed, rolling his bright green eyes. "Yes you do. Remember? All those ones about those guys that went hunting for ghosts and stuff? And they always won no matter what 'cause they looked out for each other and beat up the bad guys with salt. Not the kinda salt that goes on popcorn, but really really hard salt that hurts mean people 'cause it's clean and they're dirty. And one of them is named Dean, just like me!"

"Huh." was his father's response, impressed and a little surprised at his son's memory. The kid usually couldn't sit still for more than five minutes, making the amount of things he paid attention to and actually remembered very small. Smiling at the little boy's interpretation of demon hunting, he added, "Ah, _those_ stories. I remember now. Let me go get the book and we'll pick one. Watch your brother, okay?"

"I will!" Dean said, eagerly moving closer to the crib to peer down at his nearly-sleeping brother. "I'll take care of you, Johnny. Just like the brothers that fight the monsters. I won't let anything bad happen to you, 'cause I'm the big brother. Daddy says that's my job."

---------

A few minutes of rummaging through a previously locked trunk in the garage produced an unloaded sawed off shotgun, several vials of holy water, a bag of rock salt, a box of cassette tapes, and a journal, bound in worn brown leather. Sam looked at it for a moment, the wave of emotion resurfacing from the scribbled pages hitting him hard. He stood there, the only light coming from a single bulb above his head, staring into his shadowed past.

He hadn't looked at these things, these relics, for a few months now. He'd been working overtime at the firm, getting home late and missing the boys' bedtimes, so it had been a while since he'd come down here for his father's journal. It'd been years since he used any of the other contents of the trunk.

The great demon war he and his brother witnessed the unleashing of was fought and won, humanity prevailing, good over evil. The fate Dean accepted to save his life was avoided, both escaping narrowly by a stroke of luck and a few angels watching over them. Or something like that…It was three years later that Dean went, the blaze of glory he'd always wanted, saving a little girl and Sam in the process. He was cremated, just like their father, and Sam scattered the ashes over the Grand Canyon. In all their years driving back and forth across America, they'd never seen the Grand Canyon. He hoped he wouldn't mind how much of a chick flick moment that was.

Sam had had trouble with the Impala since then, at first because it hurt too much after the loss of his brother, then because the car itself seemed to give up, as if Dean's presence was the only thing keeping it alive all those years. He had no doubt that it was. It finally stopped, total mileage unknown due to the odometer stuck at 999999, on what would have been Dean's thirty-third birthday. Sam had Bobby tow it back to Kansas. It now rested a few feet from where Sam stood, just as polished and pristine as Dean had always kept her, ready and willing to fight one more time. But the inside was broken by years of service; Sam never could replace the engine.

Closing the trunk and about to switch the light off, Sam turned to face his brother's baby. Running a hand over the cool dark metal, he saw a thousand memories flash before his eyes, most from his preferred seat, right beside his brother, riding shotgun. Flicking the switch and wiping his eyes, Sam went back upstairs, his father's journal in hand.

---------

Upon his return, Dean had dragged the chair by the window closer to the crib so Johnny could hear the story too. His daddy smiled, his eyes brighter than normal, and motioned for him to sit in his lap.

Flipping through the journal for an age-appropriate story, Sam asked, "Which one do you wanna hear tonight, Dean-o? The one where the brothers battle a town full of evil bugs, or the one with tricky mind control?"

"Umm…mind control!" whisper-shouted Dean, face lighting up at the idea.

"Mind control it is." agreed Sam, adjusting the little boy on his lap, situating the two of them so he could keep hold of the journal and his son. He then started, softly as not to wake the baby, "Not so long ago, there lived a boy who could see things before they happened. They were bad and terrible things, and he and his big brother went all over the place trying to stop them. One night he got another one of these things, which he called visions, and the brothers went to visit Ash, the Man with the Mullet, for more information. Ash was a big help, and—"

"What's a mullet?" interrupted Dean, his attempt at a whisper failing miserably.

Chuckling, Sam thought for a moment, "Well…it's when your hair is all short in the front and really long in the back. It goes really well with a sleeveless flannel."

Dean made a face of disgust, "People with mullets sound weird."

Remembering a conversation had years ago, Sam smiled and replied, "You've got a point there, kid. Sure could play music though…"

---------

The cold November night carried on in a calm and uneventful manner, as was per usual for the Winchesters. No fires lit up the sky on that night, no lives lost, none changed dramatically. Only lives remembered and passed on, only a legacy.


End file.
